


worth, might, and birthright

by Hierophantastic



Series: to be sublime [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Allusions to Animal Cruelty, Alternate Universe, Azula (Avatar) Does Not Get a Hug, Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Azulon being a caring grandpa, But Does Get Some Self-Confidence, But I could work with Ursa's Fist/Ozai's Face, Fire Nation Royal Family, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, I am never ever going to use the Ursa/Ozai tag, Mother-Daughter Relationship, No Pai Sho in this one, Oh wow, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Ozai you fucking asshole ruining all Ursa's good work, Tea, That moment when the divine ruler of your nation tells you to get your shit together, Ursa (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Ursa POV, Ursa has a lot of supressed anger, and is therefore an asshole, and telling his granddaughter all kinds of life lessons, as well as a badass Fire Lord, calm down girl, like that her dad doesn't know tea, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierophantastic/pseuds/Hierophantastic
Summary: Ursa teaches Azula how to make tea in the hopes of helping her get out from Ozai's shadow. When Ozai ruins things, Azulon intervenes.
Relationships: Azula & Azulon (Avatar), Azula & Ursa (Avatar), Azulon & Ursa (Avatar), Ozai & Ursa (Avatar)
Series: to be sublime [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782151
Comments: 21
Kudos: 304





	1. worth a cup of good tea

**Author's Note:**

> The next fic will have Zuko. Probably. I'm planning for it to have Zuko.
> 
> Also, I never hated Ozai this much before I started writing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this made me realise that I know very little about tea and cooking in ancient Asia. Not that I know anything about tea and cooking now, anywhere.

There have been times, Ursa is ashamed to say, that she looked at her daughter and all she saw was Ozai.

It's not that she has ever thought they are the same. Ozai is a sadist. He revels in his power, believing strength to be the only thing that truly matters in the world, and that those who refuse to use their strength due to mercy or compassion are the weakest of all.

Azula, on the other hand, is a child. A child who craves approval and attention like a fish on dry land craves water. Ursa is well aware her daughter takes no pleasure from being cruel, but the way she glowed under the praise her father used to give her for it still made her sick to her stomach with fear for what her daughter was being twisted into. She hated herself for letting it happen, but also knew Ozai would not hesitate to express his displeasure with her on others.

But while the mother knows her daughter and her husband are not the _same_ people, she also knows it does not mean they aren't _similar._ Azula lacks compassion. It was only a little less than a year ago that she found Azula besides the turtle-duck pond, hands red with blood and a dead bird in one hand and a knife in the other, after Zuko had come crying to her that Azula was evil and scary and he hated her. It was the first time she had really been angry with _Azula_ instead of Ozai. Her daughter had merely looked at her in confusion, as if she didn't understand what she did wrong. And that was when she saw the girl's father.

She heard him when Azula talked about physical harm like it is an acceptable punishment for simple mistakes. She saw him when Azula masked her emotions with ease like it's normal, like it's _necessary._ And she knew he was there when Azula - _her child_ \- talked about money and status and power as if a person's worth could be _measured and weighed._

But no matter how many times Ursa has wished Ozai wasn't her husband, never once has she wished Zuko and Azula were not her children. 

Lately, now that Ozai isn't looking over her shoulders anymore, she has been steering Azula away from the ideas her father planted in her. She can tell her daughter's genuine smiles from her fake ones now, and the progress pleases her. While she still sees Ozai in her daughter sometimes, it's different now. Because Ursa severely underestimated how much her daughter cared for and admired the man, and she didn't expect the girl's application of Ozai's standards to herself would continue even after he left her in favour of Zuko's firebending.

Azula has not simply accepted that Ozai wants nothing to do with her and moved on, albeit a little more insecure. She thought over why and has somehow come to the conclusion that he was right to treat her as he did and as he continues doing.

These days, if Ursa looks at her daughter and sees Ozai, it's like he's a parasite that burrowed itself in her mind and whispers in her ear and talks with her tongue, and every scathing thing Azula has ever said and will ever say about the weak and the worthless it now applies to her. Ursa wants nothing more than to reach out and _crush it_ with her bare hands so that the pest will finally leave her children alone.

She can't, though. For all that she disagrees with Ozai's opinion on power, there is no denying the fact that she is powerless to stop him. However, that doesn't mean she will simply move aside and let him ruin her children without even trying to show them the right way.

Ozai once called her, 'the worst wife he could possibly have', not long after she moved to the palace permanently and they got to know each other better. It's a title she wears with much more pride than that of Fire Princess or the Avatar's grand-daughter. Yet her favourite title of all is the one her children gave her, and the fact that her daughter even now seems to believe Ozai when he implies - most of the time with actions instead of words - that she's not worth anything makes her feel less and less as if she deserves to be called Mother.

So of course she resolves to do something about it.

**\----**

"Come, Azula," she says when the girl wanders into the garden after her calligraphy lessons are done. "I'd like to teach you something."

Her daughter raises an eyebrow in question, but Ursa is silent as she leads them to the kitchens. When she enters, Azula stops briefly in surprise and Ursa can't say she's surprised. Royalty rarely visits the kitchens, aside from Zuko who has a habit of sneaking in and stealing snacks now and then, but when they do they tend to go through the main entrance where they can oversee most of the room. Ursa takes a side door which is connected to a storage room.

But Azula does follow, even if it is with her brows furrowed in thought.

"Oh! Hello, Lady Ursa. Do your reserves need refreshing? I could just have it sent to your quarters, you know," a lanky man who just exited the storage room with bags of flour piled in his arms up to his chin greets her. He shoots her an easy smile and Ursa nods back.

"No need, Shen. I would never get out of my room if everyone came to me at my whims."

Shen grins at her, and she knows what he's about to say. _"What good is being royalty if you don't make use of your servants?"_ It's the same charade as the previous times she came down here. Except this time Azula is with her, and Shen notices her before he replies. 

"Your Highness," the baker addresses her daughter with more formality than he used with her. Then he bows forward and one bag of flour topples out of his arms and to the ground before he can right himself. Ursa can feel Azula's amusement as the man attempts to pick it back up. She would reprimand her if she wasn't aware that Shen was perfectly able to pick it up without all this comedic huffing and crouching and blindly trying and failing to find it based on touch he's doing at the moment. 

The fake smile of her eight-year-old daughter twitches and for a moment it turns genuine. Mentally, Ursa makes a note to thank the man when Azula is out of earshot. Then Azula steps forward and picks up the bag that was on the floor, placing it back in the baker's arms. "I don't want dirt in my bread," Azula explains herself. Shen blinks at her before nodding in thanks and he heads back to work.

"That was very kind of you, Azula," Ursa compliments her daughter. She pretends not to notice the way her chest puffs out slightly and her head tilts up in pride. "Wait here for a moment. I just need to fetch some things."

It doesn't take long to find the things she wants and then they're of to Ursa's quarters. Azula tries to take a peek at what Ursa took from the storage room, but Ursa has it all hidden in one nondescript bag. She makes a guess, though. "Are we going to be cooking?" Azula asks her with dread and disdain clear in her voice. Ursa laughs out loud at her question.

"Oh, Agni no! I'm afraid I'm a terrible cook." Azula narrows her eyes at her.

"Then why did we go to the kitchen's storage room? And why won't you tell me what we're going to do?" She picks up the pace so she walks beside Ursa instead of slightly behind, and even this small thing feels like a victory to Ursa. Azula never did that with Ozai. "It is because we're going to do something boring and unworthy of our stature, right?"

"That depends entirely on your point of view," Ursa replies, and beside her Azula rolls her eyes. She nods at the guard stationed at her quarters, who opens the door with a bow. "Thank you," Ursa tells her. Azula does not, too wrapped up in unveiling the mysterious activity her mother has planned for her. When they enter a familiar room which has a stone stove and cupboards on one side and a few barrels which she suspects hold clean water, Azula lets out a groan. 

"Mother," she sighs at the sight of what Ursa dubbed her 'tea room', "please tell me we're not making tea."

"We're not making tea," Ursa says. It is a lie, of course, and based on the unimpressed glare Azula shoots her way not even a good one. 

"Are you trying to turn me into Uncle? Just because I enjoy Pai Sho doesn't mean I enjoy _everything_ he does."

"You don't like tea, then?" Ursa asks, taking the different teas she had brought from the storage room out of the bag and then starts putting them away in a nearby cupboard. 

"I just don't see why we can't have a servant make some," Azula mutters as she drifts closer to one of the other cupboards, inspecting the pots and kettles. "It's beneath us. We're royalty."

Finished with the teas, Ursa starts on a search for her favourite kettle. It should be here _somewhere._ "The only thing that will make the perfect tea taste better, is knowing you made it yourself." Azula stares at her in fascinated suspicion.

"Have _you_ been turned into Uncle? I could swear he said that once."

"We had the same teacher. It's a saying he is fond of." Ursa frowns when her search proofs fruitless, then turns to look at her daughter. An innocent smile is plastered on the girl's lips, so Ursa simply folds her arms and stares at her, unimpressed. Finally, Azula sighs in defeat and takes the kettle out from where she had shoved it behind the water barrels. "How did you even know I would want this one?" Ursa asks as she takes it.

"It looks like it would have more use as a sieve. Why else would you keep it, if not for sentimental reasons?" her daughter responds. Ursa purses her lips and refrains from replying, because she can't even tell Azula she's wrong. Her mother's old kettle has seen better days. 

"Maybe you're right. Let's use a different one. I'll show you all the correct steps first, then you can try it yourself." She puts her mother's kettle away and picks another one that looks a little less as if it might melt on the stove. She gives it Azula and silently asks her to fill with water. After deliberating for a moment, she decides to use Ginseng, grabs the spark rocks, and glances at her daughter, glaring at the tap as if it is offensive to the entire world but Azula in particular. 

Azula does not look excited. Ursa sighs.

"Aren't you curious who taught your uncle and me how to brew?" 

"Why should I care about some old 'master brewer' who I probably have never heard of? Unless he works here in the kitchens, I doubt I'll ever meet him." Ursa can't contain a grin as she clicks the rocks together to light a fire.

"But you _have_ heard of him, and met him several times already. He's one of the most famous men alive in the Fire Nation today." From the look Azula gives her, Ursa guesses she has yet to connect the dots. "Your grandfather taught both Crown Prince Iroh and me to brew. 'It is only when you can brew good tea somewhere, that you will truly feel at home there,' he told me." Ursa couldn't say she _liked_ the old man, but she respected him.

"Is your father famous?"

"Not at all."

Ursa doesn't look at her daughter until she's certain the fire won't die out, but when she finally does Azula is staring ahead with wide eyes. It looks as if someone just tilted her entire world on its side. "...Fire Lord Azulon taught you how to brew tea?" she asks at last.

"He did, yes." Maybe it makes her a bad mother, but she can't help but feel slightly amused by her daughter's shocked expression at the revelation that her grandfather likes tea. "He's quite good at it too. Or was. I think he finds the increasing difficulty in brewing tea one of the worst things of growing old."

"What about Father? Did the Fire Lord teach him too?" Ursa checks the stove before answering. It seems to be hot enough, so she places the kettle Azula filled with water on top.

"No, Ozai had no interest in learning. He thought it was pointless and a job for servants," she then admits. Hopefully, Azula won't simply follow her father's example for the sake of following it. It might be a long stretch from tea to human rights, but it's not as if she could simply _order_ Azula to believe that she was worth more than what her father said she was. She doesn't interrupt her daughter's train of thought, whatever it may be. 

"Father said the Fire Lord was a senile, old fool these days," Azula confesses, and Ursa glances around as Azula didn't bother to lower her volume. Insulting the Fire Lord in his own palace was a stupid mistake people didn't tend to make twice, regardless of stature. Azula, of course, looks utterly unbothered.

 _"Your father_ should have more respect for _his father,"_ Ursa firmly tells her daughter. _And you should have less respect for yours,_ she doesn't say.

Azula frowns at her words, as if she can hear her silent addition, but then simply nods. "If the Fire Lord thinks it's an important skill, I will learn it, Mother," she decides. Ursa smiles happily.

"Then I'll gladly teach you, dear."

**\----**

A few hours later, mother and daughter are seated at a table on the balcony attached to Ursa's rooms. Carefully, Ursa sips from the cup in her hands, which holds the first tea Azula has ever made herself.

It is... surprisingly good. The taste is not to strong, but not to subtle either, and of course Ginseng is always a treat. "Hmm," Ursa hums, giving her daughter an encouraging nod to try it herself. "It's delicious, Azula. Especially for your first try." A pleased smile curls around Azula's lips and some of the nervousness that was visible in her daughter's posture dissipates. She blows over her own cup a few times to cool it off, before tasting it herself.

"And?" Ursa asks. Azula's smile shifts nearer to a smirk, which is something Ursa learned to recognise as pride rather than simple arrogance. 

"It is indeed very good, Mother," Azula answers. Ursa laughs.

"Humble, aren't you?" she teases, and Azula's half-smirk fully develops itself. 

"Pleas, Mother, as the most prodigious tea brewer of my generation I really have no use for humility, do I?"

 _That_ was arrogance, mixed with Azula's sense of humour she lets show whenever she feels safe. However, the glow of pride coming from her daughter is too strong for Ursa to care. "Crown Prince Iroh might take offence to that statement, if it weren't for the fact that Lu Ten has yet to drink tea for any other reason than that he was thirsty and couldn't find any water." 

Azula's smirk-smile does not fade the entire time as they drank their tea, so Ursa simply decides to bask in her daughter's happiness. Until the guards-woman enters her quarters and informs Ursa that Fire Prince Ozai wishes to talk to her. Ursa's mood sours immediately, and from the way the woman takes a step back she guesses it was visible.

"I will come to his quarters-" she begins as she rises from her seat.

"No need, I'll be brief," Ozai's voice interrupts her and Ursa _hates_ him and she _hates_ Azulon for arranging their marriage and she _hates_ herself because she already knows why he's here. She knows what he has to say, and she knows what she will answer.

_Yes, I'll leave him alone. It's not as if I have a choice._

Ozai does not acknowledge the guard as she bows and takes her leave, nor does he acknowledge his daughter whose relaxed and happy demeanour shifted into tense and rigid the moment he entered. No, his eyes are fixed entirely on Ursa, who is doing her level best to keep her face as blank as possible. She can't completely mask the cold resentment in her eyes as he steps onto the balcony, however, and Ozai smirks in victory.

Ursa doesn't fail to notice how little he looks like Azula in that moment. There was no joy there, no pride or humour. _I am better,_ it says, and nothing else. 

"Father," Azula greets him from her seat with an almost unnoticeable tone of hope in her voice, and Ursa's heart drops to her stomach. "Would you like some tea?"

_Just ignore her. Just say no._

Azula has already risen from her seat to grab a cup for her father, and she wastes no time filling it with the tea she made. Ozai accepts it without a word, glances at it briefly, and then takes a sip.

Ursa can see the quiet anticipation for Ozai's judgement on Azula's face and she knows he can see it to. It only makes the dread within her grow.

"This is worthless," the parasite finally says, after taking a sip that was much longer than what terrible tea deserves. "You should fire whichever servant made it." And then he dumps the contents of the cup over the balcony railing.

 _I hate him,_ Ursa thinks, and contemplates pushing her husband over the railing. But then she looks at her daughter and all thoughts of murder are forgotten. Before her eyes, Azula closes herself off. Her smirk solidifies and turns brittle at the same time, her shoulders stiffen and her back straightens, not out of pride but out of practice. Her golden eyes, which were shining with life only moments ago, dull in a matter of seconds.

"Yes, I thought it tasted a little funny myself," Azula agrees hollowly. Then she bows to her parents. "I think I need some air. Have a good day further, Mother, Father."

As her daughter disappears through the doorway, Ursa tries to follow but a hand drops on her shoulder and stops her. "You need to distance yourself from Zuko."

"He is _my son!"_ Ursa refuses without thinking. Ozai raises an eyebrow.

"I am well aware. He is as weak as you are, therefore, you need to distance yourself from him or else I might _never_ have a worthy heir! I really do not want to go through all the trouble of raising another child in the slight hope that they will be a proper bender!" Ozai growls at her. Ursa does not flinch. She will give in eventually, they both know, but not without a fight.

"Zuko is my son. I will not abandon him just so you can try and twist him to your liking," she tells him.

"And Azula is your daughter, and I can break her with a word," Ozai counters and strides for the door, knowing he won.

"I _hate_ you," Ursa spits after him.

"I really do not care," he throws over his shoulder. And then he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just writing this and before I knew it Ursa was talking about how much she's like to murder Ozai, and I was like, "eh, sure." but then Ozai suddenly intruded on this story despite not being invited and man...
> 
> What an asshole.


	2. as mighty as a breathless dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azulon talks a bit about a non-canon member of the royal family in this chapter, but they're long dead anyway and don't change anything in canon, so yeah.

Ursa spends the rest of her day looking for her daughter in vain. When evening comes she eventually returns to her quarters, her previously raging fury now reduced to a simmering anger. The Fire Princess makes sure she is presentable and schools her face into a neutral smile, before leaving for the Fire Lord's quarters. The guards positioned at the doors shift slightly when she arrives, which is the only greeting she receives. Giving them a nod in return, she patiently waits while one of them opens the door. With ease, Ursa makes her way to the sitting room where she knows he'll be waiting.

"Good evening, daughter," comes Fire Lord Azulon's voice from the ornate seat he occupies. It is more of a throne than a chair, its legs and armrests carved in the shapes of flames and dragons and lined with gold. The other chair in the room seems almost pauper in comparison, despite being exquisitely crafted as well. A small circular table stands between the two chairs and they are positioned so that they face the portrait on the wall, the only thing interrupting the rows of candle-sconces.

The Fire Lord is staring at the portrait, list in memories. It was made according to his own instructions, depicting his parents, Fire Lord Sozin and his wife, as well as Azulon and Ilah, who are standing in front of them. In their arms are Prince Iroh and Prince Ozai respectively, and slightly behind and to the left of Sozin a woman she has never had the chance to ask the name of with a blade at her hip and the hairpiece of a Royal Princess in her hands, letting her hair hang loose. The painting is fiction, she knows, because Sozin and his wife were long dead by the time that Ozai was born.

Ursa gives the Fire Lord a full bow, back straight and facing the floor. "Good evening, my Lord," she says curtly in return. "Would you like me to make you some tea?"

The answer is yes, of course. It's the reason she's here. The Fire Lord likes to drink some tea before he goes to sleep, and for some reason she is one of the few people he trusts not to poison him. Privately, she thinks it's more because she makes good tea, as per his lessons, and less because of trust. The man himself once told her that he wasn't likely to live much longer, so if poisoned tea would be the last thing he tastes he'd prefer it to at least be _good._ Still, Ursa feels the Fire Lord's measuring gaze fall on her at her tone. He has sent her away before when he deemed her too upset for him to trust her not to do something rash. He does not do so this time, though.

"I would, Lady Ursa. I feel like Jasmine today," he says instead, adopting a more formal tone himself. Ursa rises from her bow and leaves the room, making her way to the stove. Hot water is already prepared so it does not take long for her to prepare a pot of Jasmine tea. Once she's done she puts the pot and a cup on a tray and returns to the Fire Lord, who has not moved from his seat.

Azulon accepts the cup she pours him without a word, but he can't help but note that there is no second cup on the tray, nor does his daughter-in-law relax. "You seem angry today," he comments. Ursa's lips tighten.

"I am fine, my Lord," she says. She doesn't _like_ Fire Lord Azulon. She is well aware he arranged her marriage to Ozai due to which she was torn from her home, and she finds his views on the other nations and their people and his actions against them abhorrent. They stand against everything she believes in. She respects him, though, and his company tends to be much more pleasant than Ozai's. His conviction to his values and devotion to the Fire Nation and his family are admirable, even if she often wishes he would look at his living relatives a bit more instead of his dead ones. Her early days in the palace when the man taught her how to brew tea are some of her fondest memories. But sometimes her ever-present anger at Ozai rears its head and she's reminded who brought her here in the first place.

Azulon knows this too.

"Of course," the man in question says, not believing it for a moment. His shrewd eyes peer at her over his cup. "Then why don't you grab a seat and pour yourself a cup? It is delicious, as always."

"You flatter me, my Lord," Ursa says and decides to take his advice. The Jasmine might help her calm down. Silently, she pours herself a cup after fetching one and seats herself in the empty seat.

The Jasmine does not help. Its subtle taste, while different from Ginseng, reminds her of the events this noon. 

"Tell me, what did my son do to make you this angry today?" the Fire Lord asks her as he watches her attempts not to crush the cup in her hands. Ursa exhales through her nose and decides she can't really disobey a direct order from the Fire Lord. 

"I was teaching Azula how to make tea today," she begins. The old Fire Lord perks up in his seat and it's times like this that his company can be genuinely enjoyable. When he doesn't rant about Water Tribe savages or mourn his lost family, but instead asks about her children or talks about his own when they were young.

"And? How did it go?" he inquires, a little energy returning to his old body. Ursa smiles as she remembers her daughter's disdain change into reluctant joy and then into pride. 

"It went well, my Lord. We made Ginseng and her first attempt was much better than mine was. It was quite delicious, and good for her mood too." Azulon smiles a little, but Ursa's own smile fades again as she recalls Ozai's entrance. "Then Ozai came in and said it was worthless and whichever servant made it should be fired. He emptied it over the railing," Ursa says, voice tight with anger. "He didn't even look at her."

Ursa carefully watches the Fire Lord's features for a reaction, yet she can't discern any emotion from his face. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought as he stares at the portrait, eyes drifting from Ozai, to Sozin, and finally coming to a halt on the unfamiliar woman.

"And what did Azula do?" he asks after a long moment of silence. Ursa closes her eyes briefly against the image of any pride and confidence her daughter had built up vanishing in an instant.

"She left to get some air. I think- I think she believed what he said, though. She holds her father's opinion in high regard, even after..." Ursa trails of. She has not talked to Azulon about his granddaughter being a nonbender. The Fire Lord always directs their conversations, as he sees these quiet moments more as opportunities to sit back and drink tea, with talking being optional. She suspects he knows, since the entire palace knows, but she doesn't know what he thinks about it.

"I will clear my schedule for tomorrow. Have Azula come here, I would like to taste my granddaughter's tea myself," the Fire Lord says decisively. His daughter-in-law bows her head and waits until he finally tears himself away from the portrait, then she calls in his attendants to help him out of his robes and into bed. 

Ursa knows the man has committed countless atrocities and ordered many more, but hopefully she can at least trust him with his own granddaughter. If anyone could convinceAzula to believe more in herself and less in her father it would be the Fire Lord.

**\----**

The Fire Lord's summons nearly sends Azula's heart rate through the roof. Father had been mostly ignoring her since her eighth birthday, which was to be expected. But the young Princess had thought it might be okay. Mother taught her things, like Pai Sho and how to brew tea, which might not be skills Father would think useful, but at least they were _something._ And besides, Mother claimed she was an excellent student.

Except Mother was _lying,_ and there was little doubt the Fire Lord would have heard about his worthless granddaughter by now.

Therefore, when Azula arrives at the Fire Lord's quarters it is only after she made sure her appearance is immaculate. Not a single strand of hair on her head could be out of place, and her hairpiece, which indicates her status of Fire Princess, has been scrubbed and polished so that it now shines like a golden sun. Either the Fire Lord knows or he doesn't, and if he doesn't she would not let him find out.

One guard opens the door for her, while the other remains vigilant. The quarters are larger than her own, of course, so an attendant leads the young Princess to the room wherein the divine ruler of the Fire Nation is awaiting her. As Azula enters the room and sees the Fire Lord in his chair, she tries with all her might to act as if her heart isn't hammering in her throat and bows. If they had been in the throne room, with the Fire Lord behind a curtain of flames and meeting as lord and subject, she'd have prostrated herself on the floor.

Perhaps she should do so now as well. She doesn't know why the Fire Lord told her to come here, and considering she barely ever sees the man with how he is always either in the throne room or his personal quarters, she doesn't know what to expect. Most of her memories of him are old and vague, from the time he didn't need a cane to walk. Maybe he is about to cast her out of the family for being a disgrace. At that thought, any possible words of greeting past "Fire Lord-" die on her tongue and a few seconds pass in silence.

"Stand up straight, granddaughter. I would like you to make me some tea," the Fire Lord says when it becomes clear Azula will not say anything. Azula's heart doubles its efforts to tear itself out through her throat as she rises from her bow, but she does not let her panic show. Instead she gives him a wary frown.

"Are you certain, Fire Lord? Surely, one of the servants could better-"

"Nonsense," the Fire Lord waves her arguments away. "Your mother told me she taught you how to brew and assured me it was delicious. I would like to see which of my teachings she passed on in your lesson."

A flash of betrayal stabs through Azula. Not only did her mother lie to her about her tea being good, she also lied to the Fire Lord!? Did she want Azula to make a fool of herself? Desperate, she tries to explain one last time. "Whatever Mother may have told you, it is not-"

"Azula," the Fire Lord interrupts her sternly. "I want _you_ to make me tea. Do not worry about it being good or not, simply show me your best attempt." He raises one pale eyebrow in a silent challenge. "Unless you find such a mundane task... difficult?"

"Of course not!" She clamps her traitorous mouth shut.

"Good," the Fire Lord says with an amused smile, and Azula's respect for him plummets. "I'd like some Ginseng, then. Ask one of the servants to lead you to the kitchen. And bring two cups."

Azula does so, repressing a grimace, and tries not worry what will happen when the tea is not up to his standards. She will find out soon enough, she supposes as she gets to work. When she's done she brings the pot and two cups over on a tray, musing about the odd request. It becomes clear soon enough, as the Fire Lord gestures for her to take a seat. Azula puts the tray on the small table and seats herself in the only other chair in the room.

The Fire Lord is quiet as he drinks, and Azula does her best to quell the anticipation rising within her. She takes a sip from her own cup, but it tastes much the same as what she had made yesterday. _So this one is worthless too, then._ She must like worthless things, because the taste is still as pleasant as it was yesterday. _Tha_ _t makes sense,_ she thinks.

"Your mother was right, this is very good for a beginner," the Fire Lord says, and Azula manages to smile before her lips could twist into a grimace.

"You honour me, Fire Lord," she says gracefully. The Fire Lord's pale brows furrow.

"You can call me grandfather, you know. We are alone here so there is no need for formality." Azula blinks, surprised. So far this meeting is not at all what she was expecting.

"I will, Grandfather," she agrees and gets a pleased smile in return, wrinkling his skin even more. The man certainly looks old, even if he doesn't seem to care in this moment.

"Now, Azula, I would like you to tell me what _you_ think of this tea." He looks at her in expectation. Azula takes another sip from her cup, wondering what he's trying to do.

"It is good for a beginner," she states carefully, but her grandfather purses his lips and gives a small shake of his head. 

"I already know Ursa and mine thoughts. I'd like to hear yours." His golden eyes bore into hers and Azula looks away. She keeps her face blank as she pretends to inspect the family portrait, stalling until she can figure out the right answer. But when Fire Lord Sozin meets her eyes she wonders what he'd have to say if he learned his descendants were discussing tea instead of the conquest of the world. The Princess thinks she can make a guess, and the conflicted jumble of emotion that has been festering inside her since yesterday rears its head at last.

"It's _worthless,"_ Azula sneers, and drops her half-empty cup back on the tray. With a stubborn glare she prepares herself for the reason the old man really asked her here. "You don't need to mock me, _Grandfather._ I know perfectly well why I am here, and it's not just so you can joke about my _tea!"_

Except, there is no vicious smirk on his face. And none of the expected jeers or smiles or cutting remarks make an appearance either. Her grandfather looks stern and disapproving, but not amused. 

"And _you_ should not mock _me,_ _Fire Princess Azula._ Everything I do, I do in the best interests of our Nation and our family. There is _nothing_ to gain from the mockery of a _child!"_

Azula lowers her eyes, sufficiently cowed despite the fact that he called her a child. Grandfather relaxed, the sternness vanishing.

"Besides, I would never joke about tea, Azula. Where did you get the idea that it was worthless?"

Azula hesitates, but she can't lie to the man in front of her, she now knows."Father told me," she tells him. "I should have known, though. It is stupidity to expect excellent results on the first try." Or the second, or the third, or every single one after. Maybe she was just born to fail.

But her grandfather snarls at her words, face furious. "The only reason your father can tell good tea from _boiled grass_ is because of the name written on the bag! Do you truly believe yourself worth only as much as your father says you are?" There is an anger in his words, but it doesn't seem to be wholly aimed at her. Could he be angry with Father? But why?

"No," Azula protests quickly, only recognising it as a lie once she said it. Grandfather doesn't seem to believe her either and she scrambles for something else to say. "I just know what people are worth," she adds lamely and curses herself as soon as the words leave her mouth. _Strong, you're supposed to be strong!_

"Then how is it possible that you underestimate yourself so badly, I wonder." Azula doesn't look at the old man, head cast down in shame. The Fire Lord must be so disappointed in her, Grandfather or not. 

"I am starting to believe my son has shamefully neglected your lessons."

"Of course not! Why would Father do that?" she says indignantly, rising to her father's defence. Her grandfather frowns at her, and then lets out a weary sigh. There is the disappointment she was expecting. 

"You are so certain you do not belong. That you disgrace this family. Why?" Azula swallows. Surely he must already know? Why is he asking her? Despite her earlier decision, she now doubts she can deceive him where something so big is concerned, no matter how much she wants to. Her shoulders sag.

"...I can't bend, Grandfather. Is that not why you called me here?" the girl whispers in defeat.

"I called you here because I like tea and I heard my youngest grandchild learned to brew. What does bending have to do with that?" There is no judgement in her grandfather's face. It is completely neutral, aside from the single eyebrow raised questioningly.

"I can't _ben_ _d._ Agni's gift, our birthright, I don't _have it."_ She tries not to shout at her grandfather - _again_ _-_ but the obtuse man was making it increasingly difficult. 

"Your _birthright."_ The Fire Lord scoffs. "I doubt you even know what your birthright really is." Azula opens her mouth to refute that, but he raises a hand to silence her. "You are right in believing you have shamed your ancestors, however, it is not the way you were born that is the problem." He waits a beat, giving her the chance to say something, but no matter how hard Azula thinks over his words, she can't think what else she did wrong.

"Agni does not favour us because we have a right to rule. He does because we have the _might_ to do so. We are the children of victors and descendants of dragons, Azula," her grandfather tells her, his complete conviction putting power behind his words. Azula can't look away from his golden eyes as they burn as bright as miniature suns. "Their blood flows through our veins, and their might we hold in our fists. _Strength_ is our birthright, and we will keep it until our _death!"_

While he speaks, the Fire Lord's shoulders are squared and he sits straight in his chair, wearing authority like a familiar cloak. Despite the crows feet around his eyes, or the wispy state of his pale hair, or his skin filled with wrinkles, and everything else that makes him so undeniably _old,_ Azula doubts she has ever seen anyone stronger than Fire Lord Azulon at this moment.

Suddenly, Azula is reminded she is named after this man. It makes her feel both incredibly unworthy and impossibly proud.

"And you think all that means nothing, because you can not _bend,_ because Ozai _said so_." He laughs once, hard and derisively. "This is your right by blood, Granddaughter. It is something _nobody_ \- not even _I -_ can take from you. The true dragons are dead, so now the Royal Family is the closest thing alive worthy of the name." He leans forward, the full force of his attention aimed at Azula, and she wishes that there _was_ a curtain of flame separating them. "Tell me, _Fire Princess_ _Azula,_ are you _worthy?"_

_No. Dragons are fire incarnate, how could I even hope to live up to that?_

The Fire Princess curls her fists, nails digging into the palms of her hands. _Worthless,_ she thinks. _Or is that just what Father thinks?_ Azula takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and does not allow her doubt to show itself when she meets the Fire Lords stare head on.

"I will be," she promises him. "Of their name, and yours as well, Fire Lord Azulon."

Her grandfather inspects her quietly, not saying anything until Azula starts squirming under his gaze. "I have never been a master when it comes to nonbending combat, but I've seen dragons," he eventually offers. "They were magnificent. Fighting them is something I both regret more than anything and loved most of all. And I can assure you, if there was a dragon who couldn't breathe fire, then it would still be one of the mightiest creatures alive. I have no doubt you will bring great honour to their names, and mine." Then he smirks, while Azula tries not to preen _too_ obviously under the praise.

"Besides, do you honestly think you are the first Princess of the Fire Nation who is not a bender?"

Azula's eyes widen abruptly. "What?" she asks shocked, certain she must have misheard him. Grandfather turns his gaze to the portrait. When Azula follows it she finds herself looking at a woman with a sheathed blade at her hip and a Princess' hairpiece in her hands. 

"That is my aunt, Fire Princess Zhian. She was my father's older sister, but got passed over in the line of succession due to her lack of bending."

"His older sister..." Azula murmurs still shocked. "I've never heard of her before. I didn't even know you had an aunt. Why is that?"

"Never?" Grandfather asks her, disapproval in his tone.

"No, my apologies-" she starts to excuse herself, when the man waves it away.

"I understand she is not popular with everyone, after what she did, but I had hoped Ozai would at least teach you and your brother about her. He really has neglected your tutelage." Pensively, he stares at his granddaughter for a moment. "I suppose I'll have to tell you two myself, then. Next week maybe. For now..." The Fire Lord claps his hands twice and a servant enters, bowing immediately.

"Bring me the dagger," he commands him and the servant leaves without a word. 

"What dagger?" Azula asks curiously.

"Zhian's dagger, of course. She was very proficient with blades of any size and shape. The greatest swordswoman of her generation." A nostalgic smile graces his face. "My father sometimes told me her adventures as bedtime stories, like how she took the Tanwei garrison with only six soldiers and only two of them benders. He respected her greatly, even after she..." An air of sadness falls around Grandfather's figure. She itches to ask more questions about what more this nonbending ancestor of hers could have done to earn the respect of _Sozin the Conqueror_ and why Grandfather looks so sorrowful, but she doesn't. He said he would tell her next week.

She finds herself looking forward to it, surprisingly enough.

So the silence reigns until the servant returns, bringing with him a sheathed dagger that looks more like a masterful piece of art than a weapon. Grandfather directs the servant towards her with a gesture and Azula takes the object with bated breath. Red and gold are the primary colours, with the hilt being mostly golden and crafted to mimic a limbless dragon. The grip is the creature's sinuous body, tiny scales giving extra grip, and the pommel being the curled end of its tail. Where the blade begins is the dragon's head with its mouth open wide. Combined with the sheath, which is a mix of red and gold dancing around each other like flames, it gives the impression that it's breathing fire.

"Take a look at the blade," Grandfather says. "I made sure it was well-maintained. It is a family heirloom, after all."

Slowly, Azula slides the blade out of its sheath. It's single-edged, the cutting edge being on the upper side of the dragon's head. The sharp point curves gently to one side. Not foolish enough to test just _how_ well-maintained it is herself, she decides to take Grandfather at his word. When she notices an inscription, Azula rights the blade to better read it.

"There is no victory without devotion," Azula reads aloud. It makes sense. You can't win if you give up halfway.

"There is no devotion without faith," her grandfather replies, and he twirls his finger around in a tight circle when she glances at him in confusion. Turning the blade, she indeed finds the words he just said inscribed there. "You cannot win if you do not devote yourself to your goal, but you cannot devote yourself to your goal if you do not believe in it," he explains.

Azula commits the words to memory and admires the dagger a moment longer, before she hands it over to her grandfather. Or attempts to, at least.

"Keep it," he tells her. "I am much too old to make use of it anyway."

Azula does not hesitate when she quickly stands up and bows deeply. "Thank you, Grandfather," she says with sincerity.

"No, _thank you,_ Granddaughter, for the delicious tea."

Azula hesitates, smirks, and accepts the compliment.

**\----**

That evening, Azula rolls up her sleeves and inspects her arms. It is something she normally fervently avoids. 

It's not as if there is much to see. The mementos from her father's lessons are almost all small and faint, and would only fade more with time if not completely vanish. They're barely visible dots, no larger than a finger and only slightly more red than the surrounding skin, yet Azula still sees them clearly. They have always looked like failure to her, like missed chances and wasted encouragement.

"Feel it," Father would tell her every time. "Can you feel the fire?"

And every time, she would say no.

But there is one scar that will never fade completely. This one could actually be called an accident, a mistake, as she is certain Father hadn't meant to hurt her so bad. It was the reddish imprint of a large hand, which wrapped itself around her wrist. Azula remembered perfectly when she got it.

When even the late bloomers amongst her age mates at school started blooming and showed their first sparks, Azula grew more and more anxious. One day, after her lesson, she asked Father what would happen if she wasn't a bender after all.

It was stupid of her. She should have at least picked up on her father's foul mood, but her anxiety was muddling her thoughts.

Father had grabbed her wrist and yanked her close. "Don't be ridiculous, daughter," he'd snapped at her in answer. "You are a _firebender._ You will _not_ fail me!"

Azula remembered those words clearly, despite the _excruciating_ pain she was experiencing at the moment.

When he let go and saw the state of her wrist, he called for Ursa and told her it was a small training accident. After that day, she would run into Mother much more often in the hallways, and most of the time she 'just happened' to have some salve for burns with her.

But Azula wasn't a firebender and she did fail Father. _Although,_ she thinks as her finger traces the outline of the hand around her wrist, _Father did not tell me to_ be _a firebender. He told me I_ was _one. Yet I am not._

She was born a nonbender. She succeeded in _every_ form he gave her, and all the while she had been failing him since her first breath. But not because she wasn't capable, Father simply expected the wrong thing of her. He had been _so certain_ she could bend.

He was wrong.

 _He was wrong about me,_ she tells herself quietly but with confidence. She might not be a bender, but she is still _royalty._ She is a dragon, like Grandfather told her. She is _strong._

 _He_ is _wrong about me,_ the Fire Princess corrects herself.

And if he was wrong about her bending, she wonders, something _so large,_ something he modelled the greater part of her life around... then _what else_ could he be wrong about?

That thought stays with her the entire night, resting in the back of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally much longer because I was having way too much fun letting Azulon rant about the greatness of the Fire Nation and Water Tribe savages. Ah, the joys of severely underdeveloped canon characters.


End file.
